


Another Story

by MatchaMochi



Series: Dark Passages [2]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Reincarnation AU, Soulmates AU, just a little something for the ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatchaMochi/pseuds/MatchaMochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He does not want to bore you with their life, (a lie if he ever sees one, their life is something he holds dear,) so Clark will allow you glimpses, perhaps. And it’s enough, because his life that before has unrolled to him as easily as a fresh new carpet now is old with holes and loose threads in them. Though he treasures the different colors, however faded they may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Story

**Author's Note:**

> Its finally sem break!!! and the reincarnation AU ive typed before this have really been bugging my mind lately so ive decided to explore more on this universe. this is just a little something for the comments on my last fic. so here you go~

In December the windows in the orphanage creaks and shudders with the cold wind. Frost decorates the edges of the rusted metal and stained glass, and not for the first time Clark wonders why they’d never thought to replace it after all the complaints about thin walls and broken lights.

 But then he remembers the children’s tendency to go out via the windows even when it has been said _many times_ by the warden that the door at the main entrance are there for a _reason_ , one of them now mainly being to avoid little boys and girls from jumping out the building three levels up to the high trees outside just because they were _bored._ The children have the kind of silent persuasion to Barbara Gordon that makes her shake her head and swear that ‘-next year I am going to bar all the windows! _Just watch me- ‘_ and never actually acting on it. She doesn’t know what they do to make her follow their wishes, must be something in the air.

That being said, the only thing in the mansion now, after the burial, was dust and a lonely sense of abandonment. Clark walks through it slowly, dragging his feet through the wooden floorboards and darken corridors. Age hasn’t been that kind to him, but at least he could pull off not using a cane for now.

He stops by the wardens’ office, eyes roaming over the photos scattered over the office walls. Crayon drawings randomly pasted by at the edges and candied photos accompanying the other more formal ones. He laughs inwardly as he sees a picture of Jason covered in mud while Roy cries behind him, next to it, he spots a picture of Dick and Kori, giggling over a drawn moustache at Bruce’s sleeping face.

They were all so young then.

Another one, stares at him reprovingly, and his eyes glazes over when he sees them. Over at the apartment in New York, he knows that one. It’s after they had mistakenly traded clothes when Bruce was staying over his place and he’d thought it was funny if they could show everyone how ridiculous Bruce looked with an oversized sweater, (he still looks hot but everyone laughs and pretends he doesn’t so Clark gives himself a pat in the back now that he knows everyone has his side on this,).

He wonders where that part of his life would be, in one of Bruce’s many novels. Third chapter? Where they were still figuring out the ends of their relationship? Or the one in the middle? Where they’ve already known how this one was going to end out?

He thinks back, and oddly enough it’s just been one event after another hasn’t it? His life could be summarized but he could always make it mean something _more_ if he were to write it.

He doesn’t want to. It’s too soon.

But that was what he’d thought when all this had started and he couldn’t see why he can’t start this one too.

-

-

-

-

But.

He does not want to bore you with their life, (a lie if he ever sees one, their life is something he holds dear,) so Clark will allow you glimpses, perhaps. And it’s enough, because his life that before has unrolled to him as easily as a fresh new carpet now is old with holes and loose threads in them. Though he treasures the different colors, however faded they may be.

This is one of them, and in this one he remembers _-_

-

-

-

_Chapter Seven_

_‘Evergreen’_

_-Passage 13-_

_“We were lost in a place like this once,” Bruce turns to him face blank, but he smiles because he can see the shine in Bruce’s eyes. “A planet where there was no sea but only rivers,”._

_Clark gives a surprised laugh. He shifts closer to Bruce even when they’re already crowded in one side of the tree trunk. The forest is packed. Full with little plants and stray leaves, falling for autumn. It’s cold and dry, Clark hums and uses it as an excuse to nuzzle Bruce’s neck, “Arthur hated that one,” he murmurs, “said he’d rather drown than go there again,”_

_Bruce grunts in reply and they lean on each other, staring at the tall spires of New York in the distance._

_Clark was the first to break the silence, “I prefer spring actually.”_

_“Why?”_

_“The leaves, their…”_

_Bruce raises his eyebrows, pulling his coat closer to himself, “Green?”_

_Clark nods, glasses askew, “Yes, yes. Evergreen. It always reminded me of ‘Earth’ you know?  Something from here. Something that is supposed to be familiar.”_

_He gets a stony glare for that, and Bruce clasps his hands in his tightly and hisses, “Don’t ever say that.” The sun sets over the horizon and Clark notes that Bruce’s eyes seem much more unnerving in the dark, “Don’t_ ever _say that you’re not from here. That’s not you. This here, right now. With me._ This _is you.”_

_He stutters, for a moment. Sometimes he remembers too much on how many times they’ve been through this that the present is a just a hazy recollection of the past. Bruce hated that, he hated the fact that their life was just another book. Clark hums again, smiling downwards. He kisses Bruce’s forehead softly and whispers,_

_“It’s alright, I won’t forget,_

_-_

_-_

_-_

Ah, yes. Those were good. Words like that. It brings him other words, words like: “Leaves”, “Coffee”, and “Bed” and others that sets his heart thrumming, “Blue”, “Children” and _“_ Blood _”_.

Sentences were good too, though he had always been good with words. With them he can say about the apartment they bought together after they had dated for a year. Or, about the dogs they had bought for the children in the orphanage because they had begged them so. He could talk about the lazy Saturday mornings they share in bed, or the silent nights in which Bruce stays awake for the majority of it to drag Clark into the newest stalking spot.

He could tell stories with this sentences, about their plans on marriage five years later, and about their plans for adoption, seven years later.

And with these, he could also tell you about the one time Harley’s ex came back from jail time and tried to throw her over the balcony.

 Or about how Ivy had been there too and how she had been cutting onions for their dinner. About how she had seen red and when Bruce and Selina had arrived, they had witnessed them sobbing quietly, holding each other tight, the knife on the ground as bloodied as the dying body beside it.

He can tell you that no, they had not called the police.

Clark sighs, when the memory hits him. He’d only found out two months after. The row he had with Bruce about that was not something he wants to remember.

He finally gives up to his rickety old knees as he carefully sits down on one of the many sofas in the room. Clark closes his eyes, and he tries to swallow, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

He can also tell you about Jason.

-

-

-

_Chapter Fourteen_

_‘Crimson’_

_-Passage 44-_

_It is hanging._

_A constant black mass of rage and exhaustion leaking in the air, hanging between them. A black cloud growing larger every second._

_A call from Selina and her friends doesn’t make it pop, but a tense silence and a frantic text from Lois makes it heavy, on the brink of explosion. When Clark accidentally shatters a coffee mug from shaking too hard, it finally snaps._

_“Where were you?”_

_The moment he bristles and glares back at Bruce he knows he’ll regret it. When he opens his mouth and snaps back he knows leaving this conversation without wounds is impossible, but this anger is tinged with worry and panic so it doesn’t matter if Clark knows all of this already. His hands shake, his back trembling, and the pounding in his head had never left ever since he hears about Jason getting sent in the emergency room._

_“I was at Diana’s you_ know _that. I was where I_ should _be. Where were_ you _Bruce?”_

 _He hates it. Bruce is still as a statue, sitting on the plastic chair, back straight behind the pale, white walls, hands folded together. His calm façade is irritating, his unmoving face a mask that Clark wants to punch through so that he could_ know _what is really going on in that damn head of his-_

_“You were supposed to take care of him Bruce! Jesus I knew you guys always had your disagreements but this- “_

_“I told him to stay in his room,” a low murmur._

_Clark hisses back, “And you know he never fucking does that.”_

_“I…”_

_What was that? It was a stutter. Clark’s surprise doesn’t show but he can see Bruce clenching his hands into fists and when he stalks closer to him, Clark can see that Bruce is pale. Clark sighs when he sees Bruce swallow slowly._

_He brings his shaking hands over his hair before he says quietly, desperately, “Who the fuck was that psycho anyway?” Blood, as crimson as it can be. The wet stains at the young boy flashes through his mind even when he’d only had glimpses of it after they had rushed him to the hospital. The memory will stay and he doubts that it would ever get away._

_“What he did to Jason- “_

_“Don’t.”_

_Bruce barks it out. Its sudden loud volume startling Clark. And he finds it weird. Bruce had been quiet before this, won’t he be raging on by now? Why is he restraining himself? Unless-_

_His eyes widen, and he stares down at Bruce,_

_“You’re hiding something from me.”_

_He was horrified. How could he? About something like this? About Jason getting beaten half to death? About the reason he was at that fucking club with Harley in the first place, about how if they hadn’t fought, Jason would be here with the others, not in the emergency room with bruises and broken bones littering his body-_

_“Tell me.”_

_He grits his teeth, stoops down and clamped his hands at Bruce’s shoulders. A vice grip._

_“Tell me NOW.”_

_They are quiet, for a while. The silence so thick he could hear his heart beating like drums in his ears. Bruce raises his head up at him, as if the action alone is draining. When their eyes meet Clark feels like sinking, feels like pulling Bruce to him so neither of them would drown._

_He saw sorrow in Bruce’s eyes and he can feel Bruce’s back shake as he says to him,_

_“Is this how we fall?”_

_“Bruce…”_

_Remember the black mass of anger and exhaustion?_

_“The man that did this, he was Harley’s ex-boyfriend and he came to her house the last two months,”_

_It is not done yet._

_“What?”_

_-_

_-_

_-_

He snaps his head up when a ring pierces through the silence of the room. Clark grunts, digging through his pocket for his phone as it grows louder. But he lights up when he sees it’s a text from Jason,

‘ _The dead don’t have cellphones Clark,’_

-and his mood makes a downward turn with that. He sighs again, pushing himself off the sofa. Jason is right of course, the way to the graveyard is fairly far. He can’t make it in ten minutes but maybe he can make it in thirty.

The dead would have to wait a little more.

-

-

-

_Chapter Thirty-two_

_‘Azure’_

_-Passage 37-_

_He misses Gotham, though he had never set foot in that city his whole life. It wasn’t even supposed to exist. But he still yearns for it. Wanting the bitingly cold night winds that assaults everyone’s houses, the chaotic murmur of vehicles and people milling about, the constantly grey weather that never seems to lift._

_Perhaps that was why he had an unusual attachment to New York. His habit of people watching was always tied with the sudden need to compare the city with the one in his dreams. Gotham though, he’s sure that her unique brand of horridness could never be imitated by any city._

_The sea breeze hits his face this time, bringing in the salty smell of the beach. Sandy Hook was a nice place, Gotham however never had any beaches. They had docks. And the wide expanse of dull, grey sea, just the like the sky above it._

_He could only imagine what it was compared to this._

_Bruce shifts a little on the mat, never letting his hands away from Clark. He leans in, closes his eyes and breathes slowly,_

_“Tell me what you see.”_

_He feels warm hands go over his back, smoothing over the pale skin. A puff of air near his cheek means that Clark had just woken up from his light nap beside him. Was it night already? He hadn’t notice the change. Or was it morning? And he hasn’t notice that he had also slept?_

_A soft kiss pulls him away from his thoughts, bringing him back to now. The blanket over them slips off when Clark runs his fingers down his arm. He murmurs to Bruce, voice rough. So it was morning._

_“Sun’s already up, and there’s not many people here. The sand’s white, but it has a tinge of pale baby blues ‘cause of the sky. The sea its…what do you call it?”_

_“Blue?”_

_He chuckles quietly, “Come on Bruce, you can do better than that,”_

_“Dark blue then,”_

_They are silent then. Clark gives out a small smile when he sees the laughter in Bruce’s eyes, “Azure blue.” Just like yours._

_“Even now?”_

_Clark blinks. He didn’t know he had said that one out loud._

_“Yes.”_

_He says quietly, rubbing his thumb over Bruce’s hands. It’s hot. Too hot. The fever has not gone down ever since he collapsed four months ago. Now, it has only worsened. How could they have known though? Bruce gets his cold every once in a while, and he has always been up on his feet the very next week, ready to write a fresh new draft of papers._

_‘Malaria’, ‘Scarlet fever’, ‘Cancer’, they’ve gone through worse in the past, but it still hits him like a sudden stab in the back. Every time Bruce so much as coughs quietly, he feels the rushing cold water at his feet and his heart dies a little inside too._

_“Beautiful.”_

_Its Bruce who says it. And he did so with a breathless whisper, his unseeing eyes turning towards the pale blue skies above. The sea wind ruffles his usually neat hair, and the pale skin at his neck looks luminous in the morning light._

_Clark looks at him and says, “Yes, it is.”_

_-_

_-_

_-_

His feet can’t take much more of this walking business really. His nearly there though, so maybe it’s worth it. A little bit.

He curses when he trips over a stray pebble. God, he should’ve just taken a wheelchair, never mind the unending taunts he’ll get from the kids, he should get used to that really. But of course, Bruce had always said that pride was never his strong suit.

He grunts a little when he snatches a quiet snicker from ahead and is not surprised when Damian steps up to him grinning, “Want a hand old man?”

The young man he sees is nothing like the child he met so many years ago. This man with his smirk and loose shoulders. Clark is glad that he’s much more comfortable now, he wonders if the other kids have changed too.

He huffs, muttering, “No respect. At all. I thought we taught you better Dami,”

“TT, and I thought only Father was this grouchy,” if Clark was grouchy what was he? He doesn’t bother continuing thinking about Damian’s anger management (they had enough of _that_ to last a lifetime,) so he straightens himself and tries to fix his tie that had gone askew.

“Is everyone here already?”

Damian shakes his head, walking slowly beside him through the graveled path. The walls around them are lined with vines and creepers, the bricks crumbling from their slow conquer. Alfred had always wanted to tear them down, aside from his editing job that is. Bruce always stops him with a blank stare and a, ‘ _Graveyards are meant to look eerie and disturbing Alfred, the occupants wouldn’t like it at all if you mow down their lawn now would they?’_  

That one makes him shudder, he’d prefer if the dead stay dead really.

With a few exceptions.

“Only one. The rest are gathered. Waiting for you.”

Clark groans, “Yes, yes I’m late I know,”

“What’s wrong Kent? Not up for it?”

“What does it take for you to call me ‘dad’ for once?”

He shrugs, “Quite a lot.”

It’s going to rain, he realizes. But he’s not surprise, its Britain after all.

When he finally sees the rusty metal gate of the graveyard, Damian sighs and says, “Alright _dad_ , just remember that _he_ wouldn’t want you to torture yourself away after this, “

And they go in.

-

-

-

Chapter Fifty

‘Golden’

-Last Passage-

It rains, and it’s not even a drizzle. Its big, wet drops that splashes on their suits and dresses. Damian was right, everyone was there. He hadn’t known how they could have chosen a day where everyone was free from their jobs and classes but it came and now he could see his children nodding at him quietly as he passes them by. He nods back, face solemn.

The kids at the orphanage came too and yes, even Barbara was there. She raises her eyebrows at him when he wobbles slowly down at the seat beside her. After she had taken the post for warden from her father he could see new wrinkles already forming at the lines of her cheek. She’s older now, he realizes. Just like Dick, a woman who has her hands full with children especially after they decided to move to a new location for the orphanage.

“He’s not here yet?”

Clark sighs in relief, stretching his legs for a moment, “Another book signing, this one in Tokyo,”

Babs startles even herself when she chuckles, “I thought he was supposed to stay in _bed_ Clark,”

He smiles back at her, “Bruce was supposed to stay in bed _years ago_ Barbara, yet here we are.”

“He still has some fight in him, huh.” she grins. And that’s right of course, Bruce isn’t leaving him, not while he’s still here.

The grave in front of them is nothing fancy, and engraved on it was the name, ‘ _Alfred Pennyworth -Loving friend and Uncle- ‘_. They had always come by here every year every time his death anniversary comes by. Alfred had taken care of everyone in the orphanage, even when his job as an editor presses him to follow Bruce around he still finds time for the children.

Thought it had never been like this, not everyone at once.

Somehow, the sound of the gate creaking open grabs everyone attention and the quiet chatter ends when a man with a sharp suit and a pair of black sunglasses steps up to them, a cane on one hand. The rain is receding now, for now. It would come again, sooner rather than later.  Now, a sliver of sunshine falls down on the plain, square shaped grave, gold sunlight illuminating the humble resting place.

Bruce calls for him from the other side, something about how he hopes Clark isn’t expecting him to just _know_ where his seat was.

 And perhaps it’s like this:

‘Love’, ‘Friendship’, and ‘Family’.

Because when he has Bruce’s hands in his, he feels all three and swears he wouldn’t ever let go.

He can’t go on now.

I mean,

this is the last chapter isn’t it?

_-FIN-_

 

**Author's Note:**

> im actually thinking about writing that harley/ivy fic on this...hmmmm  
> Anyway, comment and your thoughts are appreciated!! :3


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